Eight O'Clock
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: George doesn't believe he's capable of having a relationship with anyone after Fred's death, paternally or romantically, but a feud with his least favorite brother could somehow solve things.


**A/N: I've been watching Titanic all day and listening to love songs. Happy Valentine's Day! xoxo**

* * *

**"**Have you ever loved anyone?"

I hesitate. "Maybe. Maybe once."

We're at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, because she had business to do, and it was a rather short walk for me. She smiles with cheer and glows with health and valor. I, in comparison, felt rather shoddy.

"Box of chocolates and forever and all. It's romantic, isn't it?"

"I guess." I scratch my neck, uncomfortable.

"I thought that I loved him," she goes on. "Before. But now... I never knew. Maybe I still don't. But I love him so much more then I thought possible. My grandmother, she loved her husband. He died when she was twenty-eight, in an auto accident. She never remarried, never even dated. She loved him."

"I'm happy for you, Hermione," I say. "You and Ron both."

"The date's set for June, at the Burrow. Ron wants to know if you're coming."

"It's February, Hermione," I say, almost choking on my butterbeer. "Why the hell does he need to know now?"

"Because he wants to know if you can make it," she says, exasperated.

"Why doesn't Ron just ask me himself?" I counter.

She lowers her eyes. "That's what I thought," I say, snorting. "Tell Ron I wish I could make it, but it seems like I have other plans."

"George," she pleas.

"I'm not going," I say flatly. "Sorry."

"Why," I say, "Why the fuck is he doing this?"

"He misses you, George, I know he does."

"Oh? And has he told you that?"

"George..." She takes a deep breath and rakes a hand through her hair. "I love your brother, and your brother loves me. So if you find that you can't come because of him, come for me. It's Valentine's Day. Feel the love."

I stare at her. She smiles so genuinely at me I find it hard to flat-out refuse. In all honesty, the last place I want to be is at my brother's wedding. I could've loved Hermione in another live. I could've married her and I would treat her as more that my trophy wife. But we don't love each other. My heart was ripped out of my chest and Hermione loves Ron and Ron loves Hermione.

"I'll think about it," I say grudgingly.

She smiles. We eat.

"How's the shop?"

"All right. We did good for the holidays, we do all right in February. How's your work going?"

"S.P.E.W. is doing good. We're trying to pass some werewolf legislature, see if they can be hired into government jobs. Most of the Ministry don't want it to happen. I don't know if we'll ever get it to where they can legally work in private industry."

"How's Ron?"

She doesn't quite look at me. "Ron is good."

"How'd he propose? Harry never gave any specifications when I saw him earlier this week."

"We were in Trafalgar Square having lunch where we always do, and he just got down on one knee and asked me." She sort of lights up while saying it, and I notice her smile. It's brighter than anything I've seen after the War. It makes me happy.

"That's all he did?" I scoff, but I'm smiling.

"And how many girls have you proposed to, George?" she retorts, but she's grinning.

We finish eating. "When was the last time you saw Harry and Ginny?" she asks.

"They brought James over Monday, he looks so much like Ginny, I swear. Blimey, now that I think about it, Ron really took a while to come around."

"But it's happening," she says, leaving a tip on the table. She smiles at me, her eyes warm. "It's really happening." We walk outside, into the February cold outside. I hold my jacket tighter.

"I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," she says. She glances at me. "You know, George, you should go talk to Ron, if you want to come to the wedding. Make it less awkward."

"It's been four years."

She sighs. "Four years ago you were not who you are today, and neither was Ron. So... So just get a grip and talk to him."

I might have fallen in love with Hermione in another life. Maybe we would already be married. I know I would've had a far better way to propose than he did. But my love life has been nonexistent since Fred died. My life has been nonexistent since Fred died.

Fred was the fun part of me. Fred was the part of me that kept my temper.

Ron and I fought over my behavior, his behavior. The way I had rebuffed Angelina. The day he had screamed at Percy.

"Ron doesn't know me," I say abruptly. My voice is suddenly icy, and inwardly I cringe. "In fact, my lunch break is over," I say, looking at my watch. Which is bullshit. I have twenty minutes.

She blinks. She knows Ron is territory I don't want to chart. She gives me a hug. I kiss her cheek. "Stay safe, George."

She starts to walk her way, and I start to walk mine. I get a bit before turning around, words on my tongue. "Hey, Hermione!"

She turns around. "Yeah?"

"Make sure you love him, you know?"

She smiles. "Thanks, George."

I finish my lunch break smoking tobacco outside of the shop, far enough away that I don't ward off customers. I should quit smoking. It's a hard habit to break.

Hermione is my friend. Hermione is my only contact to Ron. Ron and I never got along. I thought he was odd and gawky. He thought I was an ass. We're both probably right.

I would've married Hermione, had Fred not died. Fred did something to me. I didn't think it would still bother me, but it does. I keep a photograph of us at our grand opening at my bedside. I look at it every night. Sometimes it makes me cry. Sometimes I smile.

I miss him so much.

I smoke a bit longer before heading inside. I look at the tobacco pipe in my hand, take a deep breath, and set it on the counter. I lift my wand and incinerate it. I'll be regretting it in a bit, but it's time I got rid of the habit. Oliver, Lee, and Verity, three of my employees, watch from where they play cards, but none of them says a word.

I wonder what Fred would say at my friendship with Hermione, and I wonder if I would love her if he were around. But I don't love her. There's a Fred-sized hole in my heart, and without it I have no capability of functioning, of getting close to another human being again.

Angelina Johnson comes into the store after lunch. She doesn't say anything in particular. She knows I'm different. I know I'm different. She browses gifts to buy her nephew and settles on a trick wand. She smiles as she sets it on the counter to pay, but it doesn't meet her eyes.

The least I could do is show up at Hermione and Ron's wedding with a date.

"I'll let you have this for free," I tell Angelina, "if you go to dinner with me tonight."

She blushes, but then she realizes I'm not kidding. She smiles and nods, and I tell her I'll pick her up at eight.


End file.
